The Start of it All
by Squirrama
Summary: Every fairy tale has its beginning, some more sinister than others. A retelling of the Tale of the Rose. Concrit is more than welcome.


I started this a while ago, and posted it on an Utena LJ com. Back then I had plans to make this the prologue to a multi-chapter fic taking us through the series and perhaps beyond. Now I think it will probably just be a one-shot. It really needs to be edited, and altered. I've already edited it greatly since I frst put it here, however I'm thinking of compleatly redoing it sometime.

I more than welcome any advice as to how to improve my writing, or discussions as to my interpretations of characters. Just know if you want to talk about the latter I probably will ramble on for quite a bit in reply.

Utena belongs to the genius minds of Be-Papas.  
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**Once Upon a Time**

_No one knows just where they came from exactly, or why they came at all. The two, walking side by side, entered this town together. We never asked what happened to their parents, their ages, or their names. We didn't need to know their names. And so we let them be, and let them grow. Together._

Once upon a time, there was a young Goddess, and an equally youthful God. The two loved one another dearly, and spent many a day in each other's company. But they grew as all beings, divine or otherwise, do. As the days wore on the young God grew restless, day dreaming of daringly saving young ladies, and how loved he could be. He loved all people, and feeling their love in return tempted him. He tried to explain to his dear sister his wish, tried to explain how nice it would be to have others love him for heroic deeds, but she would not listen. The Goddess had grown attached to the land, to the rituals in place to ensure a healthy crop. She saw no need to change their way of life, the people were happy and so were they.

Try as she might she could not understand his new desires, nor envision what role she could play if they came to fruition. Here, in the fields where they spent their youth, they had all they could ever want, and due to their blessings, the crops were most plentiful. No, she would not leave the home they had worked so hard to build. That small yet cozy place of sticks and straw, so painstakingly arranged.

But his mind had been made up; he would stay no longer, regardless of his siblings view. He was so sure there was more to life than just the changing of the seasons, and he wished to help the people in another manner than just to teach them how to survive on their own. He was sure he could do more for their betterment if he protected them himself, if he shielded them, if he rescued them. If he became a Prince upon a white steed.

When he left, he forgot to tell her where he was going, or even that he intended to be gone for so long.

_There is of course the question about what they really were. Were they royalty or Divinity? We know that they are both now, the two of them attempting to play all the roles they can in their sick fairy tale, filling the rest in with their followers. But one does wonder what they were originally. Yet, because the roles are so entwined, and the two so ancient, the pursuit of the answer becomes much like the riddle of the chicken and the egg. And the fun thing with eggs is that there is a baby chick inside, and when a chick does not break out of its shell it dies without being born. And so the very exploration of their nature is an act of revolution._

Years passed on by, the siblings not hearing from one another. He had left, and she awaited his return. She continued to give power to the land, and the people's everyday lives. He was off being the Prince. The name of Prince Dios was sung with praise in almost every village across the land. Whenever a Princess was in distress, there he would be. He'd sweep them off their feet, vanquish their troubles, and then vanish on his white steed.

His popularity amongst the populace grew, and everywhere one went people spoke of him in high regard. It mattered not that some of the Princesses would return from their rescuing maidens no longer. He was the Prince the people could believe in.

Generations came, and passed, yet he had still to return home, home to the shack where his sister awaited him. He had no time to rest his weary self, rescuing Princesses demanded all he had. No, he didn't even visit the castle the people erected in his honor, never entered within that manifestation of the people's love and devotion.

As Prince Dios's reign stretched on, still in the form of a young girl she waited. She kept the crops growing, and the seasons turning. She tended to those in need, and taught wise women how to use herbs. She too was busy, but never excessively so. She made it so the plants and creatures could tend to themselves, keep order without her around, and then she retreated into their shack, content even as her name faded out of the people's memory.

She wished he would come home. She missed him.

_He could hear their cries. Habit and time molding him into a creature made solely to save others. At all times he could hear the call to go and rescue, the urge to play the hero. It called to him, tempting him that this time would be different than the last. And so he rode on, rescuing those in need long after he grew wary of it all. The role of the Prince was that he would rescue those in need, no more no less. The Prince could not rest, the Prince could not eat. The Prince could simply act as the Prince. Roles are only good for that; confining people and trapping them within._

Prince Dios didn't know what was wrong. He felt so tired, so worn. There were Princesses calling out to him, demanding his attention, but he no longer had the power to save them. A strange dizziness overcame him, his horse suddenly hard to ride. Funny, these woods are so familiar. And that cottage... That cottage. Home.

_There was a time where the two of them had simply been one deity. But time had formed them into two separate creatures, and while they began their time together, he had grown apart. But she knew that once she had him back, they could be whole again. He completed her, and she completed him. She missed her brother, her equal, her other half._

She at first thought it was a dream. He was riding towards her, sun shining on his outfit of unsoiled white. His cape fluttered in the breeze, his gloved hand raised itself to wave. And then he fell. She caught him of course, how could she not? And then hurriedly brought him into their home. Lying him gently on the hay, she was shocked to find how sick he seemed, almost like he was on the verge of death.

She knew just what to do.

She gathered herbs to make his medicine. She would never allow this to happen again. Never. Those selfish girls had stolen her precious brother, and after an eternity of waiting he was finally back, but thanks to them he was ill. They share pain, and his was strong, that she knew. He hurt. He was tired. He was sick of it all. She would make him better, remind him that there was at least one girl who wasn't a princess, wasn't lusting after Prince Dios, but rather loved who he really was.

When she returned to her brother, he was struggling to sit up. The strain was evident on his face.

"I have to go," He forced the words out, "They're calling."

"They'll always be calling. But that doesn't mean you have to answer. Let me ease that pain, take it way. Make it so you can hear their calls no longer. Then you can rest, and we can be together again."

He grinned, and lay back down. "Can you really do that?"

"Don't speak, it'll make the pain worse." She knelt at his side, and took out the medicine she had prepared for him. Slowly she poured it into his mouth, and as his eyes shut into a deep sleep, she wiped his brow free of sweat. Then, so soft no one would have heard she breathed her relief. "Now, I can have you all to myself."

_There was a time when all girls were Princesses, and Dios was the Prince on a white horse, always there to save them. But there was also a Witch, the only girl he couldn't turn into a princess. And the Witch, in her jealousy, stole him from the Princesses of the world. So he could make them Princesses no longer. And girls who can't become Princesses become Witches. In the end, all girls are just like the Rose Bride._

**They Needed him.**

_He had protected them for so long, that they had forgotten how to protect themselves. They were so impressed by his strength that they had forgotten their own, and so had he. He had forgotten that they had free will for a reason, that they too had swords to wield. Their relationship was somehow parasitic, yet neither party gained from it. Yet it had become so much a part of them that they needed it to survive._

Where is he? Why wasn't my daughter rescued? Where is he? My daughter is in trouble. Where is he? My daughter need his help. Where is he? Why won't someone help her? Where is he? She needs to be saved. Where is he? Where is the prince, we need him. Where is he?

Prince, we need you.  
Prince, you have to save us.  
Prince, without you we are helpless.  
Prince, we will find you.  
You will save our daughters.  
Even if you have left us.

**Beware, they're coming. And they're armed. They hunt the Prince.**

_Hatred. Pure hate. The vile monster that hides in people's hearts. Its most powerful form is of the swords. Vile swords that fester in the hearts of those filled with hate. When hate takes its purist form, it's of 1,000 swords of hatred._

This must be because of the Witch.  
The Witch?  
Yes. She stole him.  
The Witch? Accursed Witch! Give us our Prince back.

_The swords know their target well._

"No! I won't let you have him! You're killing him! He's mine now."

_They sing when they strike._

Cold steel, everywhere. In her, on her, around her, everywhere. Stabbing, Slashing, Everywhere. The swords feast upon her flesh, and they plan to stay. Her body operating as a powerful magnet, always attracting the hatred onto herself.

_The Princes Sword hidden deep in her heart calls to them. As long as she hides the Sword of Dios, and Dios is the Prince, they will come for her._

How cruel that she is immortal. How cruel that she cannot just die. How cruel, so very cruel, that she can never be saved. For her there can be no **Happily Ever After**.

_Or so they thought._


End file.
